Chapter Text
Of the two of them, Wanda’s mutation manifests itself first.
Back when their names were still Wanda and Pietro, back when Peter still had a shock of messy red hair like his twin because he could not run at the speed of light, back when Wanda had friends and was well-liked and she used to laugh everyday. It all begins to unravel when the twins turn eight and red sparks shoot out of Wanda’s fingertips during a particularly challenging maths test. The windows of the classroom shatter and terrified shrieks erupt in the deafening silence that had previously blanketed the classroom. Wanda stands as the equally horrified culprit, unable to process what has just transpired, and she is sent home early that day.
Pietro does not witness any of this firsthand, due to the rules of siblings being prohibited from sharing the same classes. At first, this arrangement suits them both just fine, because they have grown out of the stage where they do everything together and their interests no longer align as they once did. It grows tedious when people stare at them with barely concealed fascination and ask, “Are you both twins?!”
Therefore, he is blissfully unaware of the whole ordeal with his sister until recess, when he is cornered by a group of boys in Wanda’s class. Pietro is not as popular with the boys as his sister is with the girls, but they tend to tolerate him because he is fairly speedy (although nowhere near as fast as he someday will be) and he is pretty good at football.
“Oi, Pietro!” They never say his name properly because it is not American and they think it sounds Russian and they have been taught to hate Russians, even though Pietro tells them that he is Sokovian. But it is all the same to them. “Are you a Mutie like your sister?”
“What?” Pietro has never heard of the term before, and all of the boys snicker before walking off. He tries to find Wanda on the playground but the teacher supervising tells him that his sister has gone home for the rest of the day. Everyone is weird around him for the rest of the day, and he even gets odd looks from the teachers.
He intends to ask his mom about the word when he gets home from school but Wanda and Mom are giggling on the couch and eating ice cream and watching television like nothing out of the blue has occurred. They both look up at the door swinging shut behind him, and some of the elation immediately drains from Wanda’s face at his puzzled expression.
“There’s my Pietro,” Mom smiles and stands from the couch to ruffle Pietro’s hair. There is a cautionary look in her hazel-green eyes, the colour identical to her daughter’s. Pietro has icy blue eyes, and it is the feature that sets him apart most from his twin. Even though it has never been discussed, Pietro knows exactly whom his eyes have been inherited from - the mystery man who has never been mentioned in the four walls of this suburban home: his father.
Pietro grins back at her and then Mom sends them outside to practise football on the front lawn, where they have a goalpost set up. They still play together when they are at home, when their world is limited to just the two of them and their mother.
One of Wanda’s classmates resides across the street and her mother - Mrs Robinson - gives Wanda a dirty look when their football accidentally lands on her lawn. She yells at Pietro to stay off her lawn when he heads to retrieve it, and the twins are flabbergasted by the usually nice neighbour’s blatant rudeness.
“Don’t know what her problem is,” Pietro mutters when he returns with the ball.
Wanda looks like she knows exactly what the woman’s problem is. She hugs her arms around her middle. “I think I’m gonna go inside.”
“But we only just started playing!” Pietro’s protests fall on deaf ears and he watches his sister retreat back into the house. He follows after her, because it is not very fun playing without her.
That evening, Wanda does not come down from her room for supper and Mom tells him that Wanda is having an early night. Pietro’s appetite fades away and he drags his fork around on his plate. “Mom? Did something happen today at school with Wanda?”
She takes a moment to swallow and then she dabs at her mouth with her napkin. She sets the napkin down and leans forward slightly. “What makes you say that?”
“Some kids were saying some weird stuff,” Pietro answers, and he is unsure of what to make of his mother’s curiosity. “They were calling her a Mutie–”
“Don’t ever say that word.” Mom’s tone is sharp and snappish and it sets him on edge. He has never seen his mom so visibly agitated and she usually never gets angry unless one of the children (read: Pietro ) does something seriously bad.
“Sorry.” Pietro stares down at the table and fidgets with his fingers. He has never been very good at remaining still.
Mom sighs, suddenly sounding more exhausted than he has ever seen her. Her shoulders slump and the dark circles under her eyes appear more prominent than ever. She is only twenty-eight, having been only nineteen when she got pregnant with the twins, during a trip to a small German town in the summer after her first year of Pre-Med. Marya Maximoff was going to be a doctor. Instead, she got saddled with the responsibility of two children, got disowned by her parents and dreams of medical school got thrown out of the window. Now, she works three different jobs to support them, one of them being a receptionist at the local surgical ward.
“I’m sorry, drago.” She reaches out to take his hands in both of hers. Drago means ‘dear one’ in Sokovian. Mom is mostly fluent in Sokovian herself, having migrated here with her upper middle class parents when she was ten years-old. Maybe that is why her parents could no longer stand to have her around anymore, because they had given her every opportunity to improve her life and she had thrown it all away by refusing to give up for adoption a set of twins that would likely never amount to anything under her care. She has never bothered to teach her children their mother tongue, despite them bearing Sokovian names.
“Your sister’s going to have it very hard from now on.” Pietro is astonished to find tears welling in her eyes. He has never seen his mom cry, not even that one time when they did not have any food to eat for three days, a couple of years back. “People aren’t going to see her the way we see her anymore. They’re going to look at her and see a person who deserves to be hated. I need you to remember that she’s still your sister. She’s always going to be your sister. She’s a person and she deserves to be treated as such . Promise me that you’re always going to stand by her side.”
“I promise,” he swears, even if he does not fully understand what she means just yet. How can everyone’s perception of Wanda change seemingly overnight?
Pietro rapidly realises that children have a capacity for cruelty that is unrivalled.
Everyone stares at Wanda as she walks into school with her head held high like their mother had instructed, and Pietro presses himself closer to her side when the staring starts to get to her and her head hangs low.
Pietro walks her to her classroom - they have been assigned another one due to the damage that has been done to the old classroom’s window - and he just smiles sheepishly at the teacher when she asks him what he is doing there.
Wanda takes a seat and utters a small “hello” to her friends nearby. They ignore her and start whispering to each other. One of them giggles, covering her mouth. Wanda starts tearing up, and Pietro is seized with a fit of rage that he has never experienced before.
One of the girls is swinging back on her chair and when Pietro walks past to leave the room, he sticks his leg out as the teacher is not watching. The girl goes toppling sideways off her chair, hitting her head on the ground. She starts crying and Pietro smiles to himself.
Pietro’s small bout of revenge achieves nothing. Wanda can barely hold back her sobs as she enters through the front door to their home, rushing upstairs to their bedroom after an entire day of being ignored and teased and called disgusting names. Their mom is still at work and they always spend a couple of hours alone after school. Yesterday had been a rare occurrence and Mom had taken the day off to spend time with Wanda. They have never felt afraid because they have each other.
He stands outside their bedroom door and musters up the courage to knock after an entire minute. Her gut-wrenching sobs keep him rooted on the spot. “Wanda?”
“Go away, Pietro!”
He sits on the landing outside their bedroom, drawing his knees close to his chest and leaning his head against the door. Wanda has always been sensitive, he is aware of that. Whenever Pietro was a bit too harsh with a joke made at Wanda’s expense, his mom always reminds him to be kinder to her. She always does it privately in order to not embarrass either of them.
When Mom gets home from work after a couple of hours, Pietro is still sitting there and Wanda’s sobs have quietened down to sniffles. Mom crouches down to kiss the top of Pietro’s head before she enters the twins’ bedroom. Wanda starts crying again, and her sobs are louder this time. Pietro’s stomach drops. He rubs at his own eyes with his palms, because whenever one twin is sad, the emotion surfaces in the other one too.
“I’m still me, Mom– It’s not fair-!”
For once in his life, Pietro is at a loss. He does not know how he can possibly bring back Wanda’s cheerfulness.
The only idea he manages to draw upon is to bring her some snacks. He heads down into the kitchen and he slices up her favourite fruit - mangoes - for her. Mangoes are expensive, so they can only ever afford to buy them when Mom has extra money or if they are on offer. Both of these occasions seldom occur. Pietro has never used a knife before so he does a messy job of the chopping, and he nicks himself on the fingers several times. Thankfully, all of his limbs remain intact. He grabs a couple of chocolate bars from the pantry, as well as a box of strawberry ice cream from the freezer - it is Wanda’s favourite. He throws some rainbow-coloured sprinkles on top.
He carries the plate upstairs and knocks on the door. “Are boys allowed in now?”
Wanda giggles from behind the closed door, and the familiar sound puts a relieved smile on Pietro’s face. She’s going to be fine. “Nope!” Mom calls back, teasingly.
“Well, too bad.” He opens the door with his elbow. “I brought snacks!” He sets them down on the centre of Wanda’s bed before flopping onto his own bed that is only a couple of feet away.
“You used a knife?” Mom’s eyebrows disappear up into her hairline when she sees the messily chopped mango.
“Yep!” Pietro chirps, sticking his hands in his pockets so she can’t see the numerous plasters covering his fingers. “I think I’m ready to be a chef.”
“I don’t know who’s gonna hire you.” Mom holds up a mango slice that is more squished rather than the cubic shape that Pietro had been aiming for.
“Thanks, Pietro!” Wanda immediately digs into the half empty tub of strawberry ice cream and it is only because she is so miserable that Mom does not object to snacking before dinner. Besides, they were probably going to eat the leftover casserole from the weekend, as they had been doing for the past three days. Mom finds it tricky to cook on the days that she is working so she cooks extra on her days off.
“I don’t get how strawberry can be your favourite ice cream flavour. Chocolate is obviously the best.” Pietro tears open a chocolate bar with his teeth.
“That’s the worst!” Wanda exclaims, outraged. Her feigned anger dims and she gives him a small smile. “Thank you for remembering the rainbow sprinkles.”
“He did?” Mom gasps, leaning over to take a look at Wanda’s ice cream. “You did! Aww mi dragooo!” She coos, squeezing Pietro’s cheeks, and Wanda’s fit of giggles returns anew.
“Mom! I’m grown up now - you can’t do that!” Pietro’s cheeks are aflame. Neither Wanda nor Pietro have their mother’s warm complexion - they are in that awkward intermediary stage where their complexion borders between olive and pale. In the summer months, their differences are stark: Wanda takes on their mother’s golden, sunkissed skin, whereas Pietro only ever gets burned.
“You’ll always be my baby, Pietro.”
The situation at school does not improve as the months pass by. Wanda tries to explain herself to her friends (can they even call them her friends anymore?) but they refuse to listen. She eventually stops trying, choosing to keep to herself.
When she withdraws into herself, the boys - cruel, awful boys whose parents have never taught them to be kind or think before you speak or just keep their damn mouths shut - call Wanda names when she is silent, trying to get a rise out of her. They mock her foreign name, they call her a Mutie, they say that she is so pathetic which is why she has no dad–
Pietro starts talking with his fists. Every time somebody disparages Wanda when he is in earshot, they find Pietro’s fist colliding with their jaw. He gets sent into isolation, they suspend him, his middle school starts threatening expulsion, but nothing stops him from sticking up for his sister.
He stops playing with the other boys, choosing to spend recess walking around the playground with his sister. Sometimes, they sit and make flower crowns - which Pietro never has the patience for - but he sits through it.
“You can’t help her like this,” Mom says, quietly. She sits next to him on the edge of his bed, whilst Wanda is brushing her teeth in the bathroom. Pietro is facing his third suspension of the past two months.
“Then what do you want me to do?” he demands, bitingly. “If you have a better idea, tell me and I’ll do it!” The only way he knows how to fight fire is with fire. He starts pacing the length of the room, running his hand through his red hair in frustration. Mom does not have an answer for him.
When Wanda returns to the bedroom in her pajamas, her mom and brother are both silent and not looking at each other.
Wanda feels like a black hole. She feels like she is swallowing all the life out of her family. She wants to leave before she swallows the entire house.
They both lie awake that night, staring at the dark ceiling, before Wanda finally breaks the silence. “Pietro? Are you awake?” she whispers into the silence.
“No.” He snorts softly at his own joke, and Wanda huffs fondly. He rolls over to face her bed, propping his head up on his elbow to face her. “What’s up?”
“Why do they hate me so much?” Her voice is shaky and vulnerable and the melancholia that never seems to leave her countenance these days is back.
He shrugs in the dark. “‘Cause they’re stupid cunts.” Pietro has been building up his own repertoire of offensive words. If they were going to call his sister a slur, they would have to put up with him swearing like a sailor. “Don’t worry about them.”
“Mom said you’re not supposed to say that,” she scolds, displeased.
“Who’s gonna tell her?” He makes a fair point. The twins never betray each other.
There is silence again, before Wanda finally confesses, “The others at school say… I’m wrong. That I’m not supposed to be there.”
Pietro scowls in the dark, sitting up straight. “They’re wrong. You’re my sister. You’re supposed to be here. Always. If they can’t see that, then I’ll… I’ll break their noses.”
Wanda laughs, but it lacks true inflection, falling hollow at the end. “You’re gonna get in trouble.”
“I don’t care.” He is used to getting in trouble by now.
“I’m scared of my powers too, you know? I don’t wanna hurt you or Mom.” She bites her bottom lip anxiously.
“You’re not gonna hurt anybody,” he assures her, crawling into her bed. They are still small enough so that they can lie side by side. He snatches her fluffy pink comforter so that it is covering him more. “Stop hogging the blanket.”
“Hey!”